


cold blooded

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Instincts, Animal Traits, M/M, Poisoning, Scent Kink, consensual poisoning, emotional pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Sometimes you gotta just play games with a snake man.(Animal characteristics AU.)
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	cold blooded

**Author's Note:**

> ShinDriftWeek: Day 7 - Creator’s choice
> 
> I'm like, what, a year late? Oops. But I chose… naga-ish Drifter and Sh(inu). Like. Everything’s the same except Shin has doggo ears and tail, and Drifter’s… some kinda serpent man with legs.

It takes some time getting to this point, stripping away all animal instinct and nerves, but when Shin presses his fingers hard against Drifter’s lips, Drifter loosens his jaw, just willing enough for Shin to force Drifter’s mouth the rest of the way open with one hand. Drifter’s teeth are sharp, his fangs growing longer the wider his mouth gets. The scent of fear permeates from his skin, the scales of his hands shining until they fade out into softer human skin at the forearms. Shin’s nose twitches at the metallic stink of it, canine ears going flat against his skull. He can feel the two pinpoints of Drifter’s fangs against the soft juncture of his forefinger and thumb.

Drifter’s stressed, but his slitted pupils are wide and dark, staring up at Shin, watching every move. He doesn’t bite down. His tongue flicks under Shin’s palm, tasting Shin’s excitement, smelling it as sure as Shin can smell his.

Shin’s had centuries to learn how to control himself, and it’s nothing shocking to anyone in this day and age. The universe no longer runs on crude animalistic habits, so there’s no excusing any lack of human sense, unless you’re a pup or a kit.

Drifter’s chest rises and falls between Shin's legs. For a creature so cold blooded, he sure does exhale hot against Shin's hand.

Shin’s tail wags, thumping once against the mattress. Just once. 

Drifter’s eyes narrow, darting to look behind Shin. He raises his head, tries to, but Shin presses down with that hand across his mouth and Drifter’s too well mannered to chomp down hard.

So Shin’s got his tics. Same way Drifter can’t help but curl his lip from the added pressure.

“You wanna bite?” Shin’s fingers deep enough to leave imprints of his nails on Drifter’s cheek. He feels the delicate tremor of Drifter’s breathing and his tail curls around one of Drifter’s legs to keep still, keep it from treacherously wagging some more. It’s not meant to be possessive. He might be part cat, for all he knows. “Go on,” he dares.

Drifter’s hisses out in answer, his fangs scraping delicately over Shin’s skin. His pupils go thin. Shin feels his leg twitch, wanting to pull away from the loose hold of Shin’s tail. A clear drop of pale green starts trailing down Shin’s hand.

Shin’s ears go up, alert and hungry. He smiles his own sharp smile. “There we go.”

Drifter’s hands flex over the sheets, the soft rustle loud as a thunder to Shin and a hundred times more thrilling.

He plays with what gets Drifter keyed up — what gets him scared, what triggers his body to think it’s gotta fight, what gets the venom bleeding out of him. It drips from the points of Drifter’s fangs onto Shin’s hand as he forces his jaw open. Shin pushes it wider, until he can feel Drifter’s lips stretch and the jaw bones shift and click.

Drifter lets out a quiet gurgle, mouth filled with his own spit and venom. He bucks up, body protesting, but Shin stays put. Just instinct again. The tips of Drifter’s fangs are pressing down into the back of Shin’s hand now, but still not hard enough to puncture skin. 

It’s careful and deliberate, and Drifter doesn’t often show Shin this kind of restraint, this offshoot of trust. It sets a fire hotter than any solar flame in Shin, twice as intoxicating and twice as heady. Unable to help himself, Shin bends down to brush a kiss at Drifter’s temple instead of going for his throat like instinct demands.

(As if he hadn’t already given himself away with his curling tail.) 

That’s when Drifter chokes, drooling over Shin’s palm as the rest of his venom drains out. He must’ve expected a bite for all the hunger in Shin’s eyes. He pushes Shin’s hand away, twisting his body to spit out the side of the cot. His long serpent's tail shakes for moment before lashing against Shin’s thigh.

Probably an accident. Shin sits up and wipes his hand, one drop of blood welling at his skin from when Drifter had pulled away. Just a small pinprick, not enough for the venom to go through. 

Even still, Shin licks the blood clean. Drifter turns back around, a second too late to see.

“You good?” Shin asks. He can’t even taste it, the iron or bitter toxin.

Drifter tongues at his fangs while massaging his jaw. He scowls, a pointed tooth jutting out. “You play dirty.” 

“Yeah? Thought we were only getting started.”

Drifter flashes his teeth in something that’s barely a smile. Shin sits back on his haunches and Drifter eases up with him, one hand at Shin’s waist.

They take a moment to settle. Drifter’s still licking at his fangs, testing, and Shin can barely contain his impatience. He leans in, head tilting, and yanks his shirt collar down to point at the slope where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Here,” he says, and his voice goes rough enough to make it a demand.

Drifter stares at him, stares at the way he’s baring his neck for him, eyes roving and pupils thinning the more he sees how Shin is holding himself. He tenses, and even his tail goes still.

They’re playing. Shin makes sure he’s clear on that, but you can’t fake that kind of fear, the real kind that bunches up your nerves and sets yours pulse racing. 

Shin’s fine. He knows what he wants from the game. Drifter’s not even breathing.

Shin lowers his gaze, just a little, pretending he’s got a weakness to exploit, even when he’s showing Drifter where to strike. Then, he shifts his hand, hoping Drifter’s as keyed up as he thinks he is.

He imagines Drifter’s eyes narrowing at the movement, following his hand. He imagines if he twitches his trigger finger at the right angle, it’ll make the last of the venom drip from Drifter’s fangs.

Shin crooks his index finger, nail catching at the fabric of his shirt, and suddenly Drifter’s hand grips hard at his wrist, pushing it away.

At first, Shin doesn’t think Drifter’s moved forward at all. Then he feels the rough scratch of Drifter’s beard against his neck, the weight of his body colliding into him, the grips around his wrists to keep him from struggling.

Shin lets out a breath, and that’s when he realizes Drifter’s fangs have already sunk into him. No pain, nothing, until Drifter’s mouth sucks at his skin, and Shin finally feels the tug of two points digging into the meat of his shoulder.

It doesn’t hurt as much as he wants, doesn’t burn with the poisonous fire he craves. Shin lets out a frustrated growl and then a gasp when Drifter bites him again, and again, and again — quick, clean, precise. Groaning, Shin holds onto him for as long as he can, savoring those few seconds where Drifter exhales against his punctured skin and licks at them.

He’ll never say it aloud how good and raw it is, giving in to the idea of being bitten like this, like having a deathwish and a way to sate an infatuation, all in one go. 

It feels too soon when Drifter pulls away, mouth red with blood. Shin stares at the vivid color at his lips, morbidly enamored. He touches his marked shoulder, fingers coming away with only a few drops of blood. Drifter had licked the punctures clean, oddly fastidious, and Shin can pretend it’s out of concern, though it might really be one of the few precautions to keep the bedsheets clean.

Drifter’s frowning at him, watching his every move. He’s still wary, even as he reaches over to set his hand on Shin’s shoulder. When Shin doesn’t move, he squeezes his hand, applying pressure, massaging the bruised muscle.

And it ain’t out of any kindness. Shin’s shoulder starts to burn. He shuts his eyes, leaning into Drifter’s hand as Drifter works that little bit of venom into him. 

This is the game. Shin bleeds most of it out from Drifter, playing with instinct and paranoia, but Drifter’s as saturated with fear as they come.

He throws Drifter a smirk, leans in, and kisses him hard. The hand on his shoulder turns into a vice like its trying to keep him at bay but Shin pushes forward, daring.

Drifter bites Shin’s bottom lip, not with his fangs, just his teeth this time. Shin wraps his arms around his shoulders, tugs at his hair to coax out a low groan.

Shin falls into him, head beginning to spin in delicious circles, that little trace of venom running in his system now, and Shin has played with his fair share of poisons before. 

The whole world goes a touch slower, making Drifter’s frantic kisses feel more languid and stretched out. For someone like Shin, quick-fingered and keen-eyed, it’s inguldent to slow down like this. Drifter pushes him down, and Shin relishes the heaviness in his bones, the ease at which he falls back without being so self-conscious of the open way he looks at Drifter and the sigh that escapes out of him.

It’s a mix of being vulnerable and in control at the same time, and at least he’s not afraid to admit it to himself.

Drifter hovers over him, brow furrowed. “Hey. You good?”

Shin plays his fingers through Drifter’s hair and slides it down to rest his cheek in his palm. The skin beneath Drifter’s beard is flushed where the scales taper off. “Uh-huh.”

Drifter lets him keep it there for a long moment. Or maybe it’s just the venom, tricking Shin into thinking Drifter might ever be warm. “Mmm, yeah. I’m thinking it might’ve been too much.”

The thought of Drifter saying _too much_ out is laughable. He’s probably thinking _not enough_. Not enough to off the Man with the Golden Gun. Shin surges upwards, hooks a leg around Drifter’s waist, and flips them.

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Shin repeats with more emphasis. He bears down, straddling Drifter’s hips, and maybe goes a little too far with pressing in his weight — he’s hard, and so is Drifter. His breath catches. “Tell that to me again.”

“Okay, _okay,”_ says Drifter, rattled, hands flexing over the sheets. Shin’s surprised Drifter’s tail didn’t lash out, but instead curls around his ankle like one of those thick vines from Venus’ groves.

He could fuck Drifter like this. Work him over at his leisure, all lazy and unhurried to get him writhing for more. Shin shivers from the idea, hands flitting uselessly at Drifter’s chest. Distantly, he thinks his tail might be out of control, wagging wildly behind him.

He must’ve stared for too long, lost in thought. Drifter rolls his hips up.

“Shin,” he growls, reaching, and the sound sets Shin back into action.

Next time, _next time_ , Shin’ll work him open with his fingers or his mouth. Any longer now and he might be too clumsy to do a decent job of it. Instead, Shin grinds him slow into the bed, gripping his wrist and kissing Drifter deep like a warm drink to be savored. The bed’s got enough bounce to it that it doesn’t take much to get into an easy rhythm. 

It’s inelegant and dirty, but Drifter doesn’t complain. He rocks his hips against him, mounting friction hot and good even with their clothes still on. When their kisses break for air, he sneaks glances at Shin like this is something they haven’t done before.

Shin isn’t sure what’s there to look at. He can’t imagine what his expression might be under the hazy effects of the venom. All he knows are the kisses between them, slow like rising molten heat, and Drifter isn’t shying away from Shin’s thumb brushing across his cheek. 

“Shin,” Drifter mumbles, wrapping his arms, winding himself around Shin. The low hiss of his name rings in Shin’s ears. “Shin, c’mon, _c’mon_ -”

Shin might be dying. But it’ll be what his fool heart deserves, letting Drifter bite bitter venom into him and pretending it’s sweet.

After, when he’s laid out and sprawled over Drifter, he wavers in and out of consciousness. He thinks he can feel Drifter scratch between his ears, his tail curling together with his, the smoothness of his scales against Shin’s swaying tail.

Drifter smells like sweat and musk and fading adrenaline. Shin breathes it in.

No trace of fear, not yet.

Drifter noses him back, tongue flicking for a taste. Shin isn’t sure what Drifter’ll smell on him, doesn’t think it’d be good to hope.

It’s must’ve been something nice though. Drifter scratches at Shin’s ears again, and Shin’s world finally fades to black.


End file.
